CHAPTER IX
"CHRISTINE, CHRISTINE!"
One week from the day Peter Kaden made proof at Gregory on the homesteadhe held, the court record showed that he had transferred the same tosome unknown person. In the course of events it was not noticed by themasses. It was because Jean Baptiste was expecting something of the kindthat he happened to observe the record of the transfer in the followingweek's issue of the paper. He couldn't get the incident out of his mind,and he found his eyes wandering time and again in the direction of thehouse of Augustus M. Barr in the days that followed.
From what he had gleaned from the papers, he was sure that somethingsinister was to occur in that new land soon. He tried in vain toformulate some plan of action--rather, some plan of prevention. But theplot, the intrigue, or whatever it may be called, was deep. It had takenroot before either had ever seen the country they now called home. Andbecause of its intricate nature, he could formulate no plan towardcombatting the thing he felt positively in his veins was to take place.
Over the hill two miles and more the claim shack of Peter Kaden couldnot be seen. But he could always feel where it was and the events thatwent on therein. This healthy, but sad, forlorn German had aroused hissympathy, and always when he thought of him, strangely he thought ofChristine.
The days passed slowly and things went on as usual. He saw Barroccasionally and as often saw the dark Syfe. He read as was his wont,and then one evening when his few chores were done, he had a desire towalk. He drew on his overcoat, and, taking a bucket, he walked slowlydown the slope that led up to his house, to the well a quarter miledistant. He could never after account for the strange feeling that cameand went as he ambled toward the well. He reached it in due time, filledhis bucket, and was in the act of returning when out of the night hecaught the unmistakable sound of horses' hoofs. Some one on horsebackwas coming. He set the bucket down and bent his ears more keenly to hearthe sound.
Yes, they were hoof beats, an unusual clatter. He gave a start. Only onehorse in the neighborhood made such a noise with the hoofs when moving,for he had heard the same before, and that horse belonged to A.M. Barr,and was a pacer. Christine had use to ride him. And when he recalled it,he became curious. Christine was not there, he knew, unless she had comethat day, which was not likely.... Then _who rode the horse_? He hadnever seen Barr on horseback.... They were coming from about whereBarr's house stood, coming in his direction along the road. He estimatedat that moment they must be about a quarter of a mile away. He listenedintently. Onward they came, drawing closer all the while. He got aninspiration. Why should he be seen? He moved back from the road somedistance. There was no moon and the night was dark, but the stars filledthe night air with a dim ray. He lay upon the ground as the horsemandrew nearer. Presently out of the shadow he caught the dim outline ofthe rider. He saw that a heavy ulster was worn, and the collar of thesame was around the rider's neck, almost concealing the head; but herecognized the rider as A.M. Barr.
"Now where can he be going," he muttered to himself, standing erect ashe listened to the hoof beats on the road below. He pondered briefly."Why does he never ride in the daytime?" From down the road the sound ofhoof beats continued. And then Baptiste was again inspired.
"Kaden!" he cried, and fell into deep thought.
At his left was a small creek, usually dry. This stream led in anangling direction down toward the larger stream south of the town. Itled directly toward the claim of Peter Kaden, although the homestead laybeyond the creek. By following it, one could reach Kaden's house inabout two-thirds the distance if going by trail.
A few minutes later Jean Baptiste was speedily following the route thatled to the creek. He paused at intervals and upon listening could hearthe hoof beats along the trail in the inevitable direction. He reachedthe creek in a short time, found his way across it, and once on theother side, he hurried through a school section to Kaden's cabin thatwas joined with this on the south. He crossed the school sectionquickly, and in the night air he could smell, and presently came to see,the smoke curling from the chimney. He approached the house cautiously.He was glad that poor Kaden didn't keep a dog. When he had drawn closeenough to distinguish the objects before him, he saw Barr's horse tiedout of the wind, on the south side of the little barn. He looked closerand observed another near. He reckoned that one to be Syfe's. "So thetriangle is forming," he muttered.
He went up to the house noiselessly. He passed around its dark side towhere he saw light emanating from the small window. He peered cautiouslythrough it. Sitting on the side of the bed, Kaden's face met his gaze.He regarded it briefly before seeking out the others. Never, he felt, ifhe lived a hundred years would he ever forget the expression of agonythat face wore! Upon its usual roundness, perceptible lines had formed;in the light of the dim lamp he caught the darkness about the eyes, theskin under almost sagging and swollen. He permitted his gaze to driftfurther, and to take in the proportions of the room.
On a stool near sat Syfe, the Jew. He wore his overcoat. Indeed,Baptiste could not recall having ever seen him without it about him;also he wore his thick, dark cap. His little mustache stood out over thesmall mouth, between the lips of which reposed the usual cigarette. Hewas drawing away easily at this, while his ears appeared to be attentiveto what was going on. He was listening to Barr, who stood in the centerof the room, talking in much excitement, making gestures; while he couldsee the agonized Kaden protesting. He could not catch all that was beingsaid, but some of it. Barr, in particular, he observed, while speakingforcibly, was nevertheless controlled. It was Kaden whose voice reachedhis ears more often on the outside.
"I kept you from Australia...." this from Barr. "They had you onshipboard.... Your carcass would be fit for the vultures now on thatsand swept desert you were headed for...."
"But I was innocent, I was innocent," protested Kaden. "I didn't go toRussia that trip. I didn't go to Russia, and to Jerusalem, I have neverbeen!"
"But you hadn't proved it. You were done for. They had you, and all youcould do or say wouldn't have kept you in England. It was I, me, do youunderstand.... You do understand that I kept you from going. I, me, whosaved you. No law in this land could keep you here if they knew nowwhere you were...."
"But you forget Christine, my poor Christine! You have her, is that notenough? Oh, you are hard. You drive me most insane. Tell me aboutChristine. Give her back to me and all is yours."
A wind rose suddenly out of the west. A shed stood near, a shed coveredover with hay and some poles that had been cut green, and the now dryleaves gave forth a moaning sound. He saw those inside start. With thenoise, Baptiste knew he could hear no more, and might be apprehended.Stealthily he departed.
And all the way to the sod house that night he kept repeating what hehad heard. "_Christine, Christine! You have her, is she not enough? Giveher back and all is yours!_"
If he could only ascertain what was between Kaden and Christine--but itwas all coming to something soon, and he knew that Augustus M. Barr wastaking the advantage of some one; that Kaden was innocent but couldn'tprove it; that Syfe was in some way darkly connected, and the eternaltriangle held to its sinister purpose.
The Homesteader: A Novel Page 12
